


Debut

by gryffindormischief



Series: Fresh Pickled Toad [43]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Honeymoon, Married Couple, Wedding, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 07:03:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16718638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindormischief/pseuds/gryffindormischief
Summary: If the wedding night sets the tone for a marriage, Harry is a lucky man.





	Debut

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fightfortherightsofhouseelves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightfortherightsofhouseelves/gifts).



> A gift for @fightfortherightsofhouseelves. I hope you enjoy this fluff my friend <3 (hardly a surprise though ehe). It fits right in with my previously written wedding/honeymoon Hinny fics so I made a new mini series with them in order, in case anyone is ever looking for just wedding hinny :)

Harry can already hear the steady rhythm of the ocean when he and Ginny land in a little apparition point tucked away in a secreted part of the hotel, even as they’re greeted by a discrete pre-concierge concierge who introduces himself as Milton.

Immediately, Milton summons a bellhop to cart their baggage to their room while they check in.  It’s all a sort of blur, if Harry’s honest, the only real point of clarity in his awareness being the steady warmth of Ginny and her wide brown eyes taking in everything around them with childlike excitement.

As they cross into the main lobby, dress shoes clicking on the waxed marble floors, Harry loosens his tie and slips his arm further around Ginny’s waist so she’s tucked close into his side.  She complies easily enough, bringing hers to wrap around his back as she rises on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Getting handsy there,  _ husband _ ?”

Harry makes his best attempt at a flirtatious grin and presses a kiss to her lips.  “Any complaints,  _ wife _ ?”

They near the roped off area in front of the desk and Ginny chuckles in that low, private way that never fails to send Harry’s heart racing.  “Oh hell, we’re one of those couples now.”

Pausing just before they reach the check in, Harry pulls Ginny in for a toe curling kiss.  “It’s our honeymoon, I think we can have this.”

“I am ridiculously happy.”

The uncontrollable smile that spreads on Harry’s face is mirrored by Ginny’s, her eyes twinkling, lips bright against her pale skin, utterly radiant.  And in that moment, Harry’s honestly not sure he’s ever been more full of pure joy. “Me too.”

Once they step up to the desk, Harry’s  _ really  _ trying to be mature and put together and seem moderately competent in front of his new wife.  Which is going fine, until Ginny apparently decides that mature, put together, adult Harry is boring and oh so casually drops her hand to cup his arse.

He jolts forward and nearly sends their complimentary fruit infused water sprawling over the hotel computer and the perhaps permanently smiling night manager, Roy.

Harry offers a smile that’s probably closer to a grimace, but manages to relax and answer a few questions haphazardly while Ginny’s hand slips beneath his suit coat but remain in locations fairly acceptable for polite company.  

Until Harry picks up the heavy gilt pen and begins signing the proffered forms, and Ginny tugs the tail of his shirt up enough that her fingers can tease beneath the waistband of his trousers.  Harry’s hand jumps across the page, leaving a dark slash over the heavy paper. “Er- sorry.”

Roy’s grin widens, slightly manic if Harry’s honest, and waves away his apology.  

Ginny by some miracle decides to still her ministrations and tucks herself closer into Harry’s side, muffling her laughter against his wrinkled dress shirt.  “Sorry.”

Offering her the pen so she can sign alongside his name, Harry laughs.  “No, you are many things, but sorry is not one of them.”

With a wink, Ginny accepts the pen and fills in her lines with a flourish, only hesitating for a moment before she scrawls out ‘Potter.’   

In some miraculous feat of self-control, Ginny behaves while they get their room keys and the bellman comes to escort them to their room.  Though the reprieve doesn’t last long. As the bellman natters on about the on site restaurants and beach access and whatever else, Ginny’s restraint runs out and her gaze and hands begin to wander.

There’s a cart full of luggage blocking their companion’s view and they’re  _ newlyweds _ , so Harry throws caution to the wind.  With one last glance to their guide, Harry twists to face Ginny, pulling her close and stretching his arms so he can let his touch slip past where polite company would normally dictate.

They’re pressed close enough that Harry can feel Ginny’s heart thudding against his chest, and she can surely feel his pulse thrumming at his throat.  But he really can’t bring himself to care, not as he takes a deep breath and fills his lungs with  _ her _ .  Which means it really is his fault when they’re halfway to the honeymoon suite and her arms are banded around his middle, her lips are teasing his throat, and he’s completely enveloped by Ginny.

By the time the lift opens, Harry’s operating on instinct while Ginny’s somehow maintaining conversation, getting information on muggle watersports they can learn, and overall acting her usual effervescent self.  Which  _ should  _ mean that Harry’s able to get himself under control.

In reality, he’s just getting more... _ agitated _ .  And once again, Harry has made the mistake of underestimating Ginny Weasley, which means he assumes she’s completely oblivious to his internal struggle.  But when she begins asking inane questions like ‘how do we order room service’ and ‘where’s the nearest frozen yogurt shop’ Harry cottons on - just before Ginny sends him a saucy wink while the bellman drawls on.

_ Bloody hell _ .

Once Harry sees a break in the conversation, he pulls a wad of entirely too many bills from his pocket, slaps the bellman on the back, and hastily ushers him out of the room until the door slams shut with a  _ thunk _ .

“Well that was rude,” Ginny mutters, working her earrings off.

Harry slips his suit coat from his shoulders and slings it over the high-backed chair tucked in front of the balcony.  The sea crashes against the beach with white foam that clings to the shore, moonlight casting the evening in a pale glow.

Ginny slips up behind him and grasps his forearm.  “I can’t get the clasps.”

When she offers him her wrist, Harry’s suddenly overcome with the imagination of a romance hero, so he lifts her hand until he can press his lips to her palm.  He maintains eye contact, letting his thumb take her pulse as it beats faster.

Ginny’s breath catches, but she doesn’t relent, ever bull-headed and tenacious.  When he releases her, she twists around and tilts her neck. “And this one?”

His exhales send the escaped wisps of her hair fluttering and before he can tease her further, Ginny flits away, flicking up her skirt so she can undo the dainty straps on her heels.  “So this room is lovely, you chose well.”

Harry manages to grunt out a reply, distracted though he is by the creamy expanse of leg Ginny’s exposed.  His gaze drags up from her slim ankles, past the freckled curves of her calves, linger at her forever skinned or bruised knees, and damn it all she’s got the silken fabric yanked up well past her shins.

“You weren’t listening, where you?”

Jolting, Harry releases his death grip on the coverlet and ruffles his hair.  “I - no. Sorry. You, the dress.  _ Freckles _ .”

She leans back against the sleek chest of drawers and smirks.  “Yes, I am wearing a dress and I do have freckles.”

Hoping to regain some semblance of sanity, Harry turns his attention to his hands, fiddling with the band that now wraps around his finger, glinting in the yellow lamplight.

There’s a pause, then Ginny lets her skirt drop and pads across the parquet until she’s standing between his knees.

Almost automatically, Harry’s hands rise to her hips while hers fall to his shoulders.  “Don’t be so nervous dear.”

Harry scoffs.  “Easy for you to say.  You’re not looking at you in that dress and - ”

“S’not like we haven’t done anything - this isn’t  _ completely  _ new.”

His forehead drops to her middle.  “I know, but now we’re  _ married _ .”

Ginny knits her hands through Harry’s hair, scratching at his scalp, working at the tightness at the base of his skull borne of a wonderful but unbelievably stressful day.  Her thumbs come to brush along his cheekbones, skirting the stubble that shades his face. “Harry please. You’re making me bloody nervous and before I was just excited to shag my - my husband.”

Harry squeezes her hips and nuzzles her hand, “Sorry but.  God, just seeing you without - just seeing you  _ with _ .”

Smiling softly, Ginny works the rest of his tie free, tugging the black strip away from his collar before her fingers begin loosening the buttons that run down his front.  Halfway down, Harry manages to goad his body into action, finding the little pearl stays that skate over the sway of Ginny’s back, her bum. Gently, he curls his fingers around the scoop of her dress, the straps slowly slipping from her shoulders until she’s bare from the waist up. 

She finishes her work with his shirt before her hands fall to his belt.  “No fair, you have to undress too.”

Once his trousers fall open, it’s like some sort of dam has broken open.  The rest of their clothes are discarded in a mix of heated glances, quick breaths, and nervous giggling.  

All their outer garments have been tossed to the side haphazardly when Harry works his way back onto the bed, head cushioned by about a thousand feather pillows that seem to mold around the entirety of his head.  

“I lost you, love.”

“These are really...fluffy,” Harry answers, muffled.

Harry sits up, bringing them front to front.  His eyes drop to her chest, fingers following soon after, tickling along the scalloped edges of Ginny’s decolletage.  “I thought you didn’t like lace.”

Ginny glances down, as if reminding herself what lace they’re discussing, and then oh-so-subtly presses her -  _ self _  together.  “In the right context, I’ll admit it’s appropriate.”

Laughter bubbling up his throat, Harry rolls them until he’s cradled between her thighs, holding himself upright on each elbow.  “Oh you will, will you?”

She quirks a brow, wriggles a bit, before her bra pops loose and she tosses the entire garment away.  “Are we having a debate or?”

In a flash, his lips are on hers - warm, heated, and unrelenting.  He pulls away and begins marking her throat, “Or. Definitely or.”

It’s a chorus of sighs and moans that passes the next quarter of an hour, mixed with elated grins and teasing hands, until Ginny ends up perched over Harry once again.  Her hair’s a veritable rat’s nest around her flushed face, though Harry can be certain he’s looking just as if not more utterly destroyed and only in the best way possible.  

His thumbs hook into her knickers and begin dragging the honeyed fabric down when Ginny pauses, sitting up straight above him.  

Abruptly, Harry yanks his hands away, setting them awkwardly to his sides.  “Are you okay? We can - ”

“Yes and I really want to - it’s just - there’s chocolate covered strawberries _ right there _ .”

Harry blinks up at her, glasses crooked and full of fingerprints.  “Oh my god. Are you asking to pause?”

“It’s not personal - I mean definitely not it’s - this is - I’m.”

Sitting forward again, Harry wraps his arms around Ginny’s middle just as a grumble sounds from her stomach, and holds her close.  “Did you get to eat at all? I swear every time I got near any food some near meltdown had to be averted.”

Ginny tucks her face into his shoulder.  “I’m so  _ hungry _ .  Is it - I mean,” she glances down meaningfully at his lap, “We could just keep going?”

With a chuckle, Harry presses a short kiss to her lips.  “We are not going to ‘just keep going’ - not ever. But especially not on our wedding night, yeah?”

“Good, because I’d be thinking of those little tuxedoed devils the entire time,” Ginny says, lifting herself from Harry’s lap and trotting over to the welcome table they’d somehow managed to miss in the brief guided tour.  Though neither would have much trouble explaining exactly who and what they were completely distracted by during said tour.

“Can’t have them distracting you from this tuxedoed devil,” Harry laughs, following in her wake.  “Dressing gowns or?”

Ginny pauses ripping the gold foil from the chilled champagne bottle to look Harry up and down, then examine her own mostly naked body and grins.  “Nope,” she pops the ‘p’ and the cork at the same instant, “And neither do you.”

Brows rising, Harry shrugs and claims the free seat at the little clawfoot table tucked in the corner and grabs a strawberry, biting into it with a crunch.

Ginny frowns, “No fair.”

Harry licks at his lip to save a sliver of chocolate and takes another bite.  “Pour faster.”

Pulling a face, Ginny sticks her tongue out at Harry but fills their glasses with two expert twists of her wrist. 

The bubbles tickle Harry’s nose as he takes a swig, studiously keeping his eyes from two particular objects in the room that seem to have some sort of magnetic pull, rising and falling with each of his wife’s breaths.  Ginny’s flushed but enjoying his struggle all the same, halfway through her second strawberry and entirely at ease in her state of undress.

Draining the end of his champagne, Harry refills his glass and lifts Ginny’s foot onto his lap, rubbing at her sore muscles.  “So music?”

Ginny groans at his ministrations and lets her head drop back, flicking her wand aimlessly toward the end table that houses some sort of radio. The strains of some muggle love ballad fill the room.

As Harry bites into a third strawberry and a new song begins, Ginny muses, “I think we’re supposed to be loved up and feed each other.”

“I love you, but not enough to willingly let you steal a bite of this piece of heaven.”

“Not even half a day into our marriage and already the cracks appear.”

Harry snorts.  “Don’t be dramatic.”

“ _ Me _ ?  You’re the one that went rogue and had a surprise mother-son dance with McGonagall,” Ginny teases, topping off her glass, “Even Charlie teared up.”

“I thought Hagrid was going to cause a flash flood,” Harry laughs, “Though maybe whatever was smoking in that gift box would’ve got extinguished.”

“Can we re-gift that to Charlie?”

“Already done.”

Utterly contented, Harry slumps down in his chair, brocade fabric scratching at his bare back, and gestures for Ginny’s other foot.  Complying, Ginny slouches as well and tosses her arms behind her head.

“You’re killing me, Gin.”

“I’m teaching delayed gratification.”

Harry harrumphs.

Unmoved, Ginny swirls her champagne and taps at the crystal glass with a freckled finger.  “Shame Dudley brought a date - there were some single people about.”

“Angry Vernon’s a more satisfying gift than a gravy boat.”

Ginny hums, dropping her feet to the plush rug.  “True, but maybe we leave that train of thought behind for the mo’, yeah?”

“Vernon’s not really honeymoon material,” Harry agrees.

With feline grace, Ginny rises, “But,” she drags a finger over Harry’s chest, “Chocolate covered strawberries,” continues to saunter until she’s at the foot of the bed, “And champagne,” she drops down onto the full blanket, “And  _ lace _ …” 

Harry follows her trail and kneels between her spread legs.  “And you.”

“And  _ you _ .”

Ginny grabs him around the neck, dragging their lips together until they dance in a heated exchange, before she’s wriggling up the bed and laying herself on display among the pillows.  “And this bed.”

Grin uncontrollable and pupils blown wide, Harry crawls up the mattress and picks up where he left off pre-late night snack, nipping at Ginny’s collar bone, skirting his lips lower. 

Until he pauses - though his hands continue their teasing circuits - just at her sternum.  “Before you have reason to think my judgment is clouded, I love you.”

Ginny gasps as Harry’s thumbs slip beneath the waistband of her knickers and begin slowly working them down her hips.  She recovers rather quickly, managing to spread a smirk on her face. “We’re actually married, dear.”

Harry’s somewhere around her knees when he narrows his eyes.  “Stop ruining my romantic moment.”

Pressing up onto her palms, Ginny flicks her legs free of her pants and they land comically atop the lampshade.  “So sorry. Anything I can do to make amends?”

With a scowl, Harry drops back against the bed and crosses his arms.  “No. It’s too late.”

“Oh  _ please _ ?”

“ _ Nope _ .”

Laugh ringing like a bell, Ginny straddles Harry’s hips and tucks her hands beneath Harry’s pants, squeezing his bum as she drags her lips along his jaw.

Still, Harry’s got his scruples - partially emboldened by half a bottle of champagne on top of whatever he drank at the wedding - so his arms remain folded and his jaw set.

But Ginny’s nothing if not persistent.  Her kisses continue down his throat, over his shoulder, swirling back down to the center of his chest, and all the while her hands work the last scrap of clothing between them free.  

She presses her lips to the skin over his bounding heart, “I,” the right side of his ribcage, “Love,” and just at his bellybutton, “You.”

In a flurry, Harry drags Ginny back up ‘til she’s looming over him and they’re both a bit breathless, “What’s marriage without a bit of forgiveness and flexibility?”

Ginny hums.  “Well forgiveness I’ve seen, but not a lick of flexibility.”

Harry flips them so Ginny’s legs come to wrap around him, their faces mere breaths apart.  “The night’s just begun, Mrs. Potter.”

“What wonderful news, Mr. Potter.”

 


End file.
